


i want my time with you

by kuro49



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: M/M, post RHATO #32
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 22:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: The second night after the Iceberg Lounge reopens under new management, Bruce Wayne shows up to see the boss.





	i want my time with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marourin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/gifts).



> the one where bruce is a clingy old man and jason just can't let it go. Also the one where I needed to write about these [ridic shirt garters](https://twitter.com/Gerald_Huggins/status/1107820468038455296) so probs watch this quick vid before reading.
> 
> ps: i have no idea what is happening in the flaming trash can that is canon. i kinda stopped reading after rhato #25 and this is set after rhato #32? i'm mostly here because jay looks great in that suit and as for the rest, i don't really care because lobdell obviously doesn't. 
> 
> pps: idk rhato #33, who is she

 

Cheating death was never in his job description but he's always been pretty good at learning on the job. This is not far off.

Jason did this.

Jason pushed Bruce into a corner, rendering him to just himself. No cowl, no cape, no gadgets. Just Bruce Wayne playing up that airhead playboy billionaire. It is a byproduct of their circumstances, yes, but it is not just that.

Jason is the paint stripper peeling back the years until it is just the bare shaky bones of what keeps them on their feet. Jason is many things. Bruce is many more. And there is still so much here for them to tear down until it is just an empty plot where the foundation should be.

But he did it. _Huh_.

He finally fucking did it.

The second night after the Iceberg Lounge reopens under new management, Bruce Wayne shows up with a girl on each arm and a tipsy lilt to his steps.

The long line outside grows longer with the murmurs of an exclusive after-afterparty within the VIP section of the casino entangling every loose tongue. Bruce Wayne's presence bringing legitimacy to even the worst of where the Penguin made his nest.

Jason wouldn't put down a single penny to think Bruce would take him up on his offer when the Bat came tearing through the night before. But he guesses he didn't leave the man with too many alternatives when he pushes him into a corner of his own playing field, rendering him to just what the public has stripped him down to.

“You taught me well, dad.”

Bruce's barely perceivable flinch feels like a balm when Jason presents the man with the empire he took for himself. 

 

Jason Todd as the world knows him is a tragedy under a multitude of mysterious circumstances. Jason Todd as those who know him remains a tragedy under a whole other host of unfortunate circumstances.

Jason coming back is not the same as _Jason_ coming back.

Just as it differs when Jason didn't come back to _Bruce_ the same.

He calls him dad, and feels the full weight of that word alone on the way it sits in his gut ready to be heaved out in one hard toss. He isn't a dirty little secret to be buried. Not anymore. Not in the slightest.

Not when he comes back to this life on his own damn terms.

 

The music can be heard reverberating against the walls, a dull thump with each beat of the bass, an energy thrumming from the floor all the way to the ceiling and then every last one of those crystals on each chandelier.

"Didn't think you'd miss me this soon, old man." Jason strolls up to Bruce, smiles at each of the pretty girls in the small group that has gathered. “Seems like it was just last night that we saw each other."

He isn't subtle but isn't that the point? Jason will spell out every last intention until Bruce breaks character. It isn't fair that he is always the one to play it so close to heart when every hand he draws never seems to be the winning one.

Jason drags his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping at the healing split and it's like he can still catch the taste of Batman's reinforced armour at the tip of his tongue.

His smile wicked sharp when he is coming right up to Bruce, taking the half finished bourbon from the man's hand to replace it with a fresh glass. Just the way Bruce hates it because he knows him, one too many ice cube to dull that bitter burn he likes.

"On the house." Jason says with his suit pressed and stiff even when he moves easily, almost fluidly when he downs Bruce's drink for himself.

Drawing his head back, baring his throat.

Showing him hand after hand the man doesn't dare to reach out to turn over. His mouth pressing right where Bruce's did. Bruce's eyes never leave him, and the thrill is like nothing he's ever imagined.

 

“Hey boss.”

Miguel greets as he passes by, not sparing a glance to the man in the hundred thousand dollars bespoke suit sitting across from where Jason makes his stand tonight.

Jason nods at Miguel as he goes into the back.

“They know you call me that too?” Brucie smiles wide but it doesn't reach his eyes.

Jason likes that it doesn't when he corrects him. “Used to, B.”

“Still do, Jay.”

And maybe it is the familiarity that curls into that single syllable. Or maybe, it is the hundred thousand other things, Jason is not picky and Bruce has never stopped at just one despicable act. 

“Take your pick but don't flatter yourself.” Jason stands up from his seat, and it feels like a predictable pattern when they continue to sabotage one another in mutual assured destruction. "The lighting in this place greatly exaggerates anything pleasant that might show up on my face."

Jason smiles too, and it is a terribly vicious turn of his mouth.

 

Bruce takes the initial offer and makes it into a long standing invitation when he is showing up almost nightly to the Iceberg Lounge.

Jason doesn't know how the man finds the time between all of his other commitments even if the man never stays long. But still always long enough to make sure Jason notices night after night even when he is deliberately holed up in the back office for this reason alone.

Brucie always orders something expensive, tips the bartender twice that, and plays a hand at a random table before leaving with a less than subtle glance into the security cameras as though he can tell Jason is watching.

He is but that isn't the point. Not when he comes to him as Batman the very same night without missing a single beat, and it is like he makes Jason a permanent part of his patrol route in between costumes. There is probably something really wrong with them when they have enough alter-egos to face down each other three times in one night and still never use the same identity twice.

The sun is about to break across the horizon, and here it is, again, Bruce seeking him out.

 

"Brought my own batcuffs."

Jason shakes his wrist, rattles the metal. Lets Bruce see every intent in the way he stalks across the room until he comes right up to him. They do not work up to it. It is a free fall of epic proportions when Bruce is just Bruce and he allows Jason to see that.

It has never just been Dick Grayson to jump without a safety net. The rest of the extended family has reckless and maladjusted for middle names, adopting the first for bravery and the second for a way of life like there are no other middle ground.

"Or are they just cuffs until you put it on a bat?" Jason asks before he snaps it over Bruce's wrists.

"They won't hold."

"They stay or I won't, old man."

Bruce doesn't say anything.

"Prove me wrong," Jason smiles, "I want you gone as much as you want to be gone."

“I,” Bruce starts, staying still, not moving a muscle even as Jason drapes himself over him. “I never wanted you to go.”

His voice holds steady and his hands do too. The cuffs don't even clink.

Jason smiles just a tad bit sadder like he's had his fingers crossed behind his back hoping for anything but. He remembers a conversation much like this one by the wretch waters of Gotham Bay.

“Well, ain't that a shame.”

 

He is waiting for all of it to blow up in his face.

00:59. The count down just close enough for him to read through the blood in his eyes. 00:58. He coughs out a mangled laugh that is even more manic than the one he's had ringing in his ears for hours and hours of broken then shattered bones. 00:49.

He hears his own voice in the distance. The ticking growing louder until it is keeping time with his pulse.

“So, what do you _really_ miss?”

“My bat on your chest.”

Jason laughs in his face, dials cruelty to eleven on a scale of one to five and barely comes close to what Bruce has done.

The black sheep of the family is still part of the family. 00:17. The fallen Robin is still once a Robin. 00:15. As he is now, Jason Todd is neither one of those things, and ain't _that_ just a damn shame.

“Never again, Bruce.”

He says to him, and he means it.

The conviction is— 00:00.

 

It was a good dream while it lasted.

 

He is in his back office when the door unlocks from the outside. Then locks again from the inside.

“Pressing matter?” Jason asks before finally glancing up from where he was going through an accountant’s work when the shadow of a man reminiscent of the Bat looms over him.

“We have to talk.”

Jason laughs, and he can't help it. It is all there. From the lines at the corner of Bruce’s eyes to the severe pull of the man’s mouth. And it is the expectancy to Bruce's words that comes to have him feeling sick all over the floor all _over_ again. He sets the book aside, closing it firmly.

“Have you ever considered listening instead?”

“I can do that too.”

And there is so much confidence to that Jason could almost be convinced.

“Your false promises don't gut me down the center anymore, B.”

A lie in itself but Jason is a good liar.

“I—”

Jason tilts his head, he levels his gaze at him. “Go ahead, say it again.”

Bruce presses his lips together and Jason can't help that sweet swell of victory like there is actually any part of this where either one of them comes out on top.

“Is there a right answer in any of this?” Bruce asks instead, almost like there is still hope on this last little bit of space they have burned all of their bridges to get to.

It's a lonely narrow place to be, precarious in its perch. One misstep and the fall could be magnificent. It is a very good thing they are used to the impact. It must be all the practice they've had on one another.

Jason loosens the knot of his black tie, pushes the chair back until there is enough room between the stretch of his legs and the edge of the desk for Bruce to stand.

“Maybe you're just asking all the wrong questions.”

The man steps close, the boy who really isn't a boy by any stretch of the imagination doesn't stop him. The cycle doesn't break.

 

The good ol’days feel like a hazy memory.

Of genuine laughter that makes his shoulders shake, of a chaste kiss pressed to the top of his head, of Bruce smiling something warm and full of pride at his Robin who didn't fly out of reach just to plummet from the nest.

If karma is ever to come full circle, Jason might even believe Bruce will get what he truly deserves.

Like a good dream you wake up remembering every last detail to, like a nightmare that vanishes and you cannot recall the gripping fear to.

If karma never comes collecting, Jason isn't above doing his own dirty work to drag Bruce right down with him. A sick little wondrous part of him has to imagine if Bruce would come willingly if he ever asks.

A sick little convincing part of him knows the man would even if he never does.

Jason opens his eyes, cold sweat feeling gritty across his skin, catching breaths and breaths and gulps of air that isn't slowing his pulse. He turns over, finds the Bat of Gotham still in bed with him.

He laughs, his shoulders shaking still.

 

(It's almost a miracle that he's got more breaths in him.

Another one when he is turning over Bruce's hands to find the metaphorical dirt beneath his fingernails instead. The surprises always keep coming. The dirty work done and the consequences dealt with.

Like a fool, through and through, turns out, they are both chasing after the same thing still.)

 

They are neither at the manor nor the penthouse and the location is as neutral as it can get in a city like Gotham for the two of them when Jason bleeds her blood and Bruce protects her like she is his own flesh and blood.

Jason is sitting at the end of the bed, only halfway out of his clothes. His dress pants draped over his tailored jacket, the red dress shirt with just one button undone at the top.

The part of the truce that Jason holds up is that he shows up at all.

Bruce lands a hand on Jason's wrist, asking him to stop.

Jason doesn't pause, doesn't even bat an eye at that when he is already reaching down with his other hand to unclasp one of the shirt garters keeping the end of his deep red dress shirt from slipping up. Another piece of the armour that doesn't fold beneath Bruce's hands.

Bruce doesn't say _let me_ , doesn't really say anything at all when he grabs Jason's other hand, holding him still. He wraps one hand around both of Jason's wrists, and it is his way of asking for permission when the grip is barely even hard enough to bruise.

And when Jason doesn't pull away, he is allowing all of this is what Bruce keeps thinking.

Jason watches Bruce take the time to undo each of the three clasps on both sides.

Watches Bruce's eyes tracking the goosebumps rising over his skin as he slips a finger into the broad band of black elastic circling Jason's thighs when the shirt garters finally fall free. The rough pad of Bruce's index finger touching gently at the softer skin where there are no scars as Bruce finds the final clasps hidden on the inside of his thighs to undo the whole thing.

"Why are you doing this?" Jason asks because he hates how slow Bruce goes, hates it even more when there is still his shirt and his briefs to go before Bruce will even start on his own clothes.

“I just want my time with you.” Bruce tells him, not looking away when he is rubbing a little insistently at the imprints made into Jason's thighs from the garters, only letting up when Jason's knees almost buckle from how gentle he wants to be with him. "Is that so wrong, Jason?"

He reaches for the second button on Jason's shirt, his thumb brushing at the hollow of Jason's throat. And for every clueless blank stare Brucie shows, this is Bruce here with him and he is finally asking something right.

Bruce is the deadweight tied to his ankles, dragging him under.

Like that night by the docks, years ago, Batman pulled to shore by Robin, Jason begging that he isn't too late with his mouth over Bruce's, wishing for nothing more than to have the man breathing one more breath. This isn't that night, or any of the nights to come after.

He still has his mouth pressing over his, just as desperate. 

This night, Jason is sinking right down to the very bottom with Bruce.

 


End file.
